


When ashes fall

by Yoruhime



Series: Fire and ashes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Disturbia series-related, From episode 4x01, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoruhime/pseuds/Yoruhime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter stares. Not-Derek tilts his head in answer, holding his uncle's eyes easily, without a hint of the remorse he is so used to see and makes him so painfully easy to manipulate.<br/>“So, do you intend to leave me in the corridor all night, or can I get in?”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When ashes fall

**Author's Note:**

> So. I couldn't resist, and here it is: AU from the end of season's 4 first episode, where instead of getting de-aged, the Derek from my main series, Disturbia, finds himself at Show!Derek's place.  
> A look at what Peter sees, and what this version of Derek knows, and how the dynamic between them change because of it. 
> 
> Hope you'll like it, and tell me what you think!

Peter stares. 

While he doesn't deny his nephew's innate – and somewhat foolish – propensity to courage and honorable deeds, the younger man is far too trusting, and helplessly ravaged by guilt. Try as he may, Alpha or no...for Peter, Derek has always been defined by one word: _weak_.

But the young man looking insolently at him, mocking eyebrow raised and hazel eyes defiant, cannot be more far from weak. Not-Derek tilts his head, holding his uncle's eyes easily, without a hint of the remorse he is so used to see and makes him so painfully easy to manipulate. “So, do you intend to leave me in the corridor all night, or can I get in?”.

Peter's eyes narrow – it's a question, yet at the same time it's not. This Derek's heartbeat is steady, posture relaxed and easy-going - effortless confidence, enough of it that it reminds him of his nephew before the fire, the young man who looked on others too smugly for his own good. And yet...yet there's something cold in him, a hard core that the Derek he knows has never showed.

This Derek doesn't believe himself dangerous – he simply is, utterly, calm and silent as he waits for Peter's answer. The older man decides to try pushing a little. “What if I said no?”. Not-Derek actually has the gall to laugh, not hurt or off-balanced in any way. He shrugs.

“Then I'll agree to...”. He half-turns, rising a inquiring eyebrow behind himself, and Peter sees Stiles lips thin.

“Stiles”, the human supplies somewhat tensely – the kid is smart, Peter muses. Just like he was never truly afraid of Derek, their Derek, all bark and so little bite, he recognized the predator lurking behind this stranger's warm eyes. Just like he did for Peter when they met.

Not-Derek inclines his head. “...I'll agree to Stiles' proposition to stay over with him and his friend”, he ends smoothly. He looks back at Peter with a smile. “I won't end roof-less, rest assured. I simply would have preferred staying with...family”. The irony on the last word is not lost on Peter, and he wonder what the kids may have ended telling him about his dear uncle on the way back from Mexico.

Probably nothing good, and yet the young man came to him rather than going to the Alpha close-by, as his instincts should have pushed him to. But Scott is standing a few paces on this Derek's right, and there's not a hint of submission on the newcomer's features. Not even deference – not that Scott deserves deference in Peter's mind, but still, it's...curious.

Curious enough that he decides to take the risk. He steps aside. “Come in, then”. Derek grins at him as he slips past, comfortable in Peter's space in a way their Derek hasn't been for a very long time. Derek is mistrustful of him, wary and skittish all at once but bound by his never-ending remorse over the fire. This Derek just moves in without batting an eye.

It's surprising. _Intriguing_. 

From what he understood, the Pack, of rather this ragtag band calling themselves a Pack, had gone to try and find Derek after his disappearance a few months prior. In so doing, they had ended up in Mexico, right into the Calaveras' hands, before finally managing to find his nephew. More or less, Peter muses as he looks the man up and down.

He certainly looks like Derek, and they must be around the same age – but this stranger is leaner, muscles long and whipcord-like, and the way he moves...nothing flashy, or too overt. No vibes of gloom and menacing posturing. No ragged ends. And yet there is a distinct air of self-confidence about him, the kind that comes form not even trying.

This Derek is smart, and patient. He hasn't manifested any signs of impatience upon seeing Peter turning back towards Stiles for questions. He is observing and listening instead, without even bothering to hide his intent, and Peter's mouth quirks. It's been a long time since he has meet someone so interesting.

He decides to play along a bit. After all, if he wants to listen in, it's not like Peter can do much about it, now can he? “So. I'm guessing this is who you found when you went for my dear nephew...what can you tell me, exactly?”.

Stiles throws a keen glance to Derek's form over Peter's shoulder, but whatever it is his guest do in answer, it makes the human scowl in return, visibly displeased. “We shouldn't speak of it here”, he mutters, and it's Peter's turn to shrug.

“You're the one who bought him in”, he points out with cool irony. “Don't blame me for your lack of foresight. Now, informations? Pertinent ones only, if you can manage”.

Stiles' irritation rises, in scent and body language, but before he can say anything, Scott steps forwards. “He was half-unconscious, and he stayed out of it for most of the way back”, he starts to explain. Peter internally rises an unimpressed eyebrow. He doubts that very much – the man had more probably kept a low profile until he knew more about the situation he was in. 

_Clever_. The older wolf refrains from interrupting, though, and Scott keeps going.”We asked him a few questions, to make sure it was him, you know. About Kate, the fire...he knew everything”. Again, Peter mentally rolls his eyes. How such an imbecile can be an Alpha? Yes, the questions are specific, but a metamorph of some kind would have learned his lessons before jumping in.

Not that Peter believes it's what they are facing. No matter how different, the man _is_ Derek, he'd stake his life on it. They're still family, and family members recognize each other, especially in the wolf community. But once more, he lets Scott's claim pass unchallenged. Let the boy think what he will. He wants to receive intel, not give it.

“He didn't say much”, Scott adds, tone clearly more tense now. So he has at least the intelligence of being slightly mistrustful – it's already more than what Peter expected from him, which isn't much. The respect he had for the boy had plummeted, irrevocably crashing and burning, the day he was stupid enough to announce he would never kill again.

Peter carefully keeps his expression blank, even as thinking on the words makes him want to rip the boy's head off his shoulders. Scott McCall doesn't deserve his status, and he never has; Derek may have been a weak, ignorant, hot-headed fool, he had never been so utterly stupid as to believe that being strong meant to refrain from killing.

“...and he asked to be taken to you instead”, Scott concludes, and Peter realizes he missed whatever it was the young Alpha had said before. No matter. He can fill the blank, mostly, and as for the rest...conversation with his new guest will allow him to know much more than just listening to Scott McCall of all people.

“Well”, he cuts in smoothly as the teen opens his mouth once more, “I suppose I can take care of him for...a few days, or close”. He notices Stiles clench his teeth from the corner of his eye, and he turns to smile at him pleasantly. “Don't worry, Stiles. I'm certain that...Derek...can defend himself from any attempts at throat silting in his sleep”.

And he promptly closes his door in both of their faces. “Ah, blessed silence”. He nonchalantly turns around, and rises an inquisitive eyebrow when he finds himself facing quite a thorough scrutiny. Derek doesn't avert his eyes or flush at being caught out staring. He simply smirks. 

“You can hardly blame me when you were doing the same five minutes ago”.

So he had noticed. Peter opens his mouth for a retort, and finally shakes his head. “Very well. I'll give you that much”, he admits, if only to see his guest's reaction. Not that there is much to see, as...Derek... has shifted his attention to his fridge.

“I'm starving”, he comments almost absent-mindedly before looking askance at Peter, who waves him on, intent on using another few seconds to complete his own survey of the man. He cannot discern any visible scars, but his shirt is long-sleeved so it doesn't mean much – still, he's almost certain that his guest is a fighter, the kind who has killed for his life before. 

Quite often, he mentally adds as he notices the way this Derek moves, silent and focused, all pent-up energy and grace. He also seems to have gathered his bearings in Peter's place in the few minutes he was in it, for he offhandedly closes the fridge with an elbow while simultaneously garbing a beer from the counter before walking back to his host.

He puts the leftovers of chinese food on the table and takes the top off his bottle with a flick of his thumb. He tilts his head toward the nearest armchair and Peter nods. “Go ahead. You seem quite at ease around the place, after all”. Most would have missed the irony beneath the statement, but Derek chuckles as he sits down.

“Sorry”, he retorts, not looking sorry at all. “I'm used to your scent all around, so this seem...familiar, to a degree”. He puts his elbows on his knees, his beer held loosely between his fingers, and his expression takes on an far more serious edge. “But I'm aware that my presence is, at best, mostly unwelcome”, he adds soberly. “I'll try to keep low”.

Peter nods thoughtfully, without bothering to challenge the evidence – not that Derek seems hurt by it. Just...surprisingly sensitive about all of this, ready to take the time to think it through. “You don't seem very upset by the current situation”, he remarks pointedly, and Derek's lips twitch.

He digs into the food, and visibly chews on how much he can tell Peter before he finally admits, “Believe me, when the Pack got to me, I was freaking out alright”. He pauses and adds after a second, “But panic never helps anything, and your...young friends were full of goodwill for my weakened state”.

Peter's eyebrows shoot up. Well, _that_ is new. Having Derek admit a failure or a weakness is generally as pleasant as pulling out teeth. He's starting to appreciate this other version more and more. “And how, exactly, did you get here?”. Derek just looks back at him in silence, and Peter decides to not push. Yet. “Forget it. To each his secrets, I suppose”.

The silence stretches after that, but it's surprisingly companionable. Derek pushes his plate away, sprawling more comfortably into his armchair, fiddling with his bottle, eyes clouded, visibly lost into his thoughts. But it's him who finally take up the conversation. He shakes his head slightly, like he's getting rid of nonsense ideas, and refocuses on his host.

“Can I ask you a question?”. There is, for the first time, a hint of doubt in the tone. “I mean”, he continues when Peter inclines his head, “feel free to tell me to back off, but...From what Scott said, I gathered that you have been in caught the fire that day”. There's a flash of something in his eyes, a deep, harsh loathing darkening his irises for a second. “And yet, you have no scars – how so, considering you're a Beta?”. 

Peter keeps his face carefully blank, while he measures his next words. He's quite surprised by the fact that Derek doesn't seem to know much about his past...deeds. Not that he regrets anything he has done – no matter the kids and their holier-than-you attitude, he had and always will consider that vengeance was his to have. His right, by the blood he spilled and the pain he went through. These children cannot understand – even Derek, their Derek, failed to show any comprehension. But the man sitting in front of him...Maybe.

But still...he cannot believe that the Pack gave no warning about the crazy mass-murderer in their midst. “Oh, I'm certain Scott – or Stiles – gave you the main recap. Unless Lydia did it, in which case, I fear it has been rather...overly vindictive”. Derek sighs, but doesn't answer, and Peter, finally feeling a wound, prods mercilessly. “So?”.

“So I'm beat”, Derek retorts, putting his half-empty bottle on the table. “Can I crash on the couch?”. Peter's smile grows fangs in the semi-dark. Avoidance, finally, huh? This resembles more to the Derek he knows, always ready to flee any real conversation about what Peter went through. Too afraid of actually feeling empathy.

Too afraid of showing his dark side, of letting the shadows behind his eyes take root. Still trying so desperately to be _good_ , on the white side to Peter's dark. “What's wrong, nephew? Not appreciating to learn how mad I was? How...dangerous? Go ahead. After the number of lectures I went through with the real Derek, this one can't be worse. I'll even make the effort to listen”.

That gets a reaction, if certainly not the one the older wolf expected. Derek whirls round on him, teeth bared and expression thunderous. “Do not compare me to _him_!”. The level of venom on the last word makes Peter actually step back, but before he can say anything, Derek continues. 

“And don't start trying to play with my head. I know this tone, and I know you – all to happy to have found a pressure point, are you? Well, I'm not in the mood. I'm exhausted, I ache _everywhere_ , and I had to listen to this band of stupid kids spill their bullshit about you for almost seven hours, so _fuck off_. Seriously. Go poke at someone else”.

And on this note, he storms to the couch, lying down with his back to his host after shrugging off his jacket to use it as a blanket. Peter keeps standing here, more dumbfounded...than he has ever been, actually. He got used to no-one agreeing with his savage quest for vengeance, to the frowning upon his methods and ruthlessness.

And by extent, he knows no-one will understand him; the way he works, the way he thinks. That's what gives him the upper hand, what makes him such a wild card – no-one knows him, not anymore. The Pack sees a dangerous sociopath, and Derek's view is shattered by his guilty tries to see his old uncle, and, when it's not that, then his gnawing mistrust and anger. But this Derek, this stranger...In maybe about twenty words, he just described Peter's state of mind perfectly, a keen, undeniable knowledge of him that chill him to his core, and, at the same time leaves him shocked silent. 

“Who are you?”, he finally murmurs after a long minute. His voice grates like sandpaper in his mouth, and his tongue feels like lead.

For a few seconds, the lump on the couch doesn't move, and then there's a long sigh, and Derek uncurls, rolling on his side to face Peter, eyes glinting a soft blue in the dark. His voice, when it rises, is oddly, painfully gentle.

“Someone who never left”.


End file.
